Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural. Neither of us are doctors, so we are pretty sure that our medical info in inaccurate although we did online research.

*This chapter written by AnastaziaDanielle.

Not Right Now

Chapter 3

The words "never walking again" resonated through Sam's mind as he gulped and looked at his big brother. Dean's face was pale, his freckles standing out with startling clarity against his skin. His hand twitched involuntarily in Sam's grip at the doctor's words.

Sam swallowed hard, finding his throat as dry as cotton. "So, what do we do next? Is there any treatment for this or do we just wait for the swelling to go down?" It was hard to imagine, his strong, independent big brother needing help to live his daily life.

"I'm going to start you on some powerful steroids to see if we can get the swelling down," the doctor addressed Dean. "I'm also going to get a physical therapist to come speak with you. There are exercises that must be done every day in order to keep the muscle tone in your legs. You also need to learn how to get yourself in and out of a wheelchair."

"No." Dean spoke flatly, and his tone brooked no argument.

"Dean!" Sam grunted.

"No, Sam. No wheelchair." Dean's jaw was clenched tightly and he released his brother's hand. "Either I walk out of here on my own two feet or you can bring me my gun."

"Dean," Sam said again, this time nearly pleading with his brother. "Just give the swelling time to go down. It sounds like we don't even know what we're dealing with until that happens." He turned his gaze to the doctor. "How long will it take the steroids to work?"

The doctor looked at both brothers earnestly. "We will have to see. Every patient is different." Then he looked directly at Dean. "I will also have a counselor come and speak with you. Your life has changed dramatically in one day. That's a lot to digest."

Dean practically snarled. "I'm not talking to a shrink." His hands fisted the crisp, white sheets and he stared up at the ceiling feeling helpless. He couldn't leave the room or even roll over. He clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached.

"Dean," Sam began quietly.

"No, Sam!" he spat. "I don't want to talk about it." He closed his eyes and willed his brother to drop the argument. He heard Sam sigh and then the shuffling of feet as both Sam and the doctor left the room and stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. The low rumble of voices filtered into the room, but Dean couldn't make out their words.

Instead, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling tiles. It was a strange feeling to be numb from the waist down. He looked as if to reassure himself that his legs and feet were still there. Straining from the effort, he tried to move even just a toe, but was unable to get his body to cooperate.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he willed his mind away from the fact that he couldn't walk – would possibly never walk again. Instead, he counted the tiles on the ceiling and then the faint beeps on one of the machines hooked to his body. The repetitive noise made him drowsy and soon his eyelids dipped closed as he drifted into slumber.

Outside in the hallway, Sam tried to commit each of the doctor's words to memory. "So, will we know how much movement he will recover once the swelling goes down?"

"Not necessarily," the doctor explained. "Recovery for Dean will not be complete until he has quite a bit of physical therapy. Your brother has a hard road ahead of him."

"Dean isn't a quitter," Sam told the doctor even as seeds of doubt niggled in the back of his mind. His brother hadn't been the same since the death of their father a few months ago. "That talk about the gun, he's just trying to process what's happened to him."

The doctor nodded in understanding. "Your brother is going to go through a gamut of emotions, Sam. He will need you to be strong for him."

"I'll do whatever I can for him, Doctor," Sam promised. "My brother has never given up on me, and I'm not going to let him down."

The doctor reached out to shake Sam's hand. "I have some other patients to check on, but I will be back to see Dean before my shift is over. You make sure to get some rest."

"I will," the younger Winchester replied. "Thank you for everything." He watched as the doctor nodded and then made his way down the hall to another room. Despair settled in his gut, but he shoved it away. He had to be strong for Dean the way his brother had always put on a brave face for him.

Returning to Dean's room, he settled onto the couch that was nestled in front of the room's large window once he had reassured himself that his brother was indeed asleep. Sam tugged the blanket from the back of the couch and attempted to curl his long body up to fit into the extra small area. He couldn't quite fit, so his legs hung off the couch uncomfortably onto the floor. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders to ward off the chill of the hospital room as he closed his eyes.

Sam's thoughts wandered to the days ahead. First, they would have to see how quickly Dean recovered. Sam decided his first goal needed to be to get his brother out of this hospital as soon as possible. After their father's death, the last place either Winchester wanted to be right now was in a hospital. Knowing the special equipment his brother would need, Sam didn't feel as if a hotel would meet their needs. Perhaps he'd be able to find them a small apartment close to the hospital.

He shifted on the tiny couch and nearly rolled off into the floor before he caught himself. He grunted and made himself comfortable once again as he continued to plan. He would not allow Dean to go to a rehab facility. Sam knew that his brother would resent having to go there and would only withdraw further into himself. No, an apartment close to rehab would be the best thing for Dean.

A moan from the bed drew his attention. Sam pushed to a sitting position and his blanket pooled in his lap. He looked toward his brother to see Dean's face scrunched up in the throes of a nightmare. Tossing the blanket haphazardly to the side, Sam hurried to his brother's bedside. "Dean, it's okay," he soothed before he even reached his brother.

Sam frowned as Dean tossed his head from side to side as he slept, the dream still plaguing his sleep.

"No, Dad, watch out!" Dean yelled as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

Sam placed a reassuring hand on his brother's forearm. "Dean, it's just a dream. Come on, man. Wake up."

"I can't walk, Dad," Dean was nearly sobbing in his sleep now. "I won't be able to watch Sam's back. I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm sorry."

"Dean," Sam barked as he felt his throat tighten with emotion. Tears burned in his eyes, but he blinked them back.

Dean's eyes snapped open and he blinked rapidly in the dim light of the hospital room. "Sam?" he queried in confusion.

"I'm here," Sam replied a bit unsteadily.

The events of the past day rushed back to Dean and his face blanched as he remembered why he was in the hospital. He swallowed hard and tried once again to move his legs, but he still couldn't feel them. A frustrated groan escaped his lips. "I'm useless, Sam. You should just take me out back and shoot me."

"You don't really mean that," Sam sighed tiredly as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Bite me," Dean snarled as he flung an arm over his eyes and turned his head away from his brother.

"Look, Dean, the doctor said things should be better once the swelling goes down, and that's not going to happen overnight."

"There's no guarantee I'll ever get the feeling back in my legs, Sam, and if that happens you'll be changing my diapers. No way!" Dean huffed out a frustrated, angry breath.

Sam's heart clenched at the pain that laced his brother's words. He knew Dean had been hurting since the death of their father; the guilt was eating him alive. Now Dean felt useless; he believed he was a burden. Sam knew that Dean was used to being the caregiver; it was hard for him to step back and let someone take care of him.

Making a sudden decision, Sam reached out and placed a firm hand on his brother's forearm. "Dean, I'm not giving up on you. We're in this together. Whether you walk again or you don't, it doesn't matter. We will find a way to make it work. I promise; I'm not going anywhere."

"You should, Sam," Dean sighed, suddenly sounding tired. "If you won't bring me my gun, then put me in a home somewhere and go live your life. I don't want to hold you back."

"I don't believe this!" Sam nearly shouted at his brother as he surged to his feet and began to pace back and forth in the small room. "Dean, you are not a burden to me. You could never be a burden. I was a burden to you; it was you that practically raised me, not Dad. You gave up your childhood to give me mine. We will get through this."

"Just leave, Sam. I need some time alone."

"No, Dean, I'm not leaving you," Sam replied as he drew on patience he never knew he had.

"Just give me some space, all right?" Dean asked, the harshness in his tone disappearing. He sounded tired and worn down. "I'm not going to do anything to hurt myself; I just need to think. I promise."

Sam studied his brother's face and finally decided that Dean was telling the truth. "Okay," he finally agreed, "but call me if you need me and I'm coming straight back."

Dean gave a small nod. "I will."

Sam hated to leave his brother. He even paced up and down the hallway several times before he could convince himself to leave the hospital. The sun was just creeping up over the horizon as he exited the brick building's sliding doors. Sam took in a deep breath of fresh air and glanced down at the newspaper in his hand that he'd picked up in the lobby. He was determined to find an apartment that would meet Dean's needs.

Sam was feeling quite pleased with himself as he returned to the hospital around noon. He'd showered and shaved and then checked out three different apartment complexes. The third seemed to be just what they'd need while his brother recovered. Sam had put a deposit on it and snapped some pictures on his phone to show his brother.

As he neared his brother's room, he heard Dean's frustrated cursing and quickened his steps. As he rounded the door, he found his brother attempting to lift himself from the bed to the wheelchair. Dean slipped and the therapist caught him and helped him get back into place on the bed. Sam hurried forward, eager to help.

Dean practically snarled as Sam neared him. "I don't need a wheelchair."

The therapist, a red-haired, middle-aged woman, planted her hands on her hips and glared at the elder Winchester brother. "And how, Mr. Winchester, do you plan on getting out of this hospital?"

Dean glowered at her.

"You already have considerable upper body strength, Mr. Winchester. It won't take you long to master this skill. Plus, I'm going to show you some exercises you can do with the therapists once you move to the rehab facility."

"Rehab facility?" Dean echoed her. "Oh, no way. I'm going home with my brother."

"Mr. Winchester," the therapist sighed.

Sam broke in before she could say anything more. "My brother isn't going to a rehab facility. Dean is going to live with me in the apartment I've rented. I'll see that he gets to rehab each day, and I'll help him with his exercises at home."

Dean's eyebrows raised in surprise at the news that Sam had found them an apartment.

"He'd get better care in a rehab facility," the therapist argued.

"No one would care for my brother better than me," Sam shot back quickly, feeling his cheeks redden with a rush of anger.

The therapist sucked in a breath, but before she could reply the doctor breezed in the doorway.

"How are you doing, Dean?" he asked as he read over his patient's chart. "Your vitals look good."

"Still can't feel anything," Dean told him, his voice tight.

"That's to be expected," the doctor assured him. "I'd like to schedule you for an MRI tomorrow to check on the swelling. Hopefully, the steroids will begin to do their job at that point." He checked Dean's reflexes and made some notes on his chart as the therapist slipped out the door with a quiet promise to return once the doctor had finished his exam.

"My brother isn't going to a rehab facility," Sam blurted, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "I've rented an apartment. I'll be able to get Dean back and forth to rehab each day, and I can work with him at home."

The doctor calmly continued to make notes on Dean's chart before he answered. "I will have someone come and talk to you about the care your brother will require each day. I want to make sure that you are aware of what your brother's needs will entail."

"It doesn't matter what Dean needs. Whatever it is, I'll see that he gets it," Sam answered vehemently.

The doctor nodded. "All right then, we will talk further once I get the MRI results back tomorrow."

Once the doctor left, Dean glared pointedly at his brother. "You rented an apartment."

"You're not going to a rehab facility," Sam stated flatly. "I'm going to take care of you because that's what family does."

"What if I just want to be left alone, Sammy?" Dean sighed tiredly. "I don't want you to see me like this. I want to be the one watching your back. That's who I am; it's what I do."

"I realize that," Sam replied, "and you will have my back again before we know it. Everyone needs help sometimes, Dean, whether or not we want to admit it."

Dean shook his head. "I don't need or want your help. I want you to leave me alone or else bring me my gun and let me put myself out of my misery."

Sam quirked an eyebrow at his brother. "Aren't you getting ahead of yourself? We don't know what the MRI will show tomorrow."

Dean turned his head away from Sam. "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

Sam settled on the couch in front of the window. "I'll be here when you wake up."

The day passed slowly. Dean dozed off and on. He remained silent and brooding when he was awake. Sam drank the hospital's poor excuse for coffee and worked a crossword book he'd purchased in the gift shop.

Dean's MRI was early the next morning and the results were in by late afternoon. "Well, Dean," the doctor smiled as he entered the room, "the steroids are doing their job and the swelling is beginning to decrease. I would guess that you will begin to regain some feeling in your lower extremities by the end of the week."

Sam grinned and slapped his brother's leg, forgetting that Dean wouldn't be able to feel it.

Dean found it strange to see Sam's hand landing on his legs, yet there was no feeling there at all. His face was a mirror of confusion and uncertainty. "Will I have full use of my legs right away?"

The doctor shook his head. "Unfortunately, I think you will have quite a bit of physical therapy ahead of you."

Dean groaned and stared up at the ceiling.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam soothed. "We've got this." He turned to the doctor. "When can I take him home?"

The doctor smiled. "Maybe tomorrow if things continue as they are now. I will have someone come and speak with you about his care and physical therapy."

Sam nodded and stood to shake the doctor's hand. "Thank you, Doctor, for everything."

"You are very welcome," he smiled.

Sam fixed his gaze on his brother. Dean stared listlessly out of the window as his teeth gnawed his bottom lip anxiously. Sam began to worry that although he could fix his brother's physical ailments, perhaps there was nothing he could do for the emotional ones.

To Be Continued…

Thanks for reading! Please take the time to review.